Not Like You
by Whyntir
Summary: In the beginning of WWII, Ivan and his mother leave Europe to find a new life in America, specifically New York. But Ivan isn't a normal child, then again, nor is that annoying blond that seems to enjoy making his life a living hell. Dabble. Seriously!
1. Away to America

**A/N: I found this one video on a site where they were documenting telekinetic humans in the USSR during the Cold War and I thought 'HEEEY' so here we are. Enjoy~!**

* * *

Ivan had always been a peculiar boy, ever since he was born. Whereas most newborns screamed after birth, he remained silent, his pale face expressionless and his skin cold to the touch. The doctors worried he was dead until the amethyst eyes blinked at them confused, wondering what form of creature they may be. But that was only the beginning. Yekaterina, his mother, loved her dear Ivan with all her heart, but there was no denying his oddity.

* * *

"Are you not worried for him?" Natalya asked as they talked in the sitting room over a few drinks of tea. The two sisters had always been close, especially now in this heightened time of the Second World War. Natasha's husband was off on the front, and even though she didn't show it, Katyusha was sure her sister fretted over his well being.

Katyusha sipped her tea in thought, "Over my husband or over Ivan?" The six year old looked up from his toys at his name.

He wasn't interested in his mother's small talk, but he really didn't enjoy it when they spoke of him. The topics ranged from his troubles at school to his inability to get along with anybody and anything. It wasn't his fault if they treated him peculiarly. He even felt bad when his mother would ask _'Why must you be so odd?'_ but she didn't notice how much it stung the boy.

"Well, both, but I was specifically speaking of your boy." That's right, keep talking over his head like he was invisible. Good gosh woman, he was _RIGHT IN THE ROOM_!

His mother's eyebrows raised in worry, "Should I be worried?"

"He has no friend Katyusha," Natalya spoke bluntly, "That is not good for a child of his age. He will not be able to cope when he gets older sister. He shies away from others, and that is not good if he is to work in this system. We work with each other, for each other. You cannot get past that. He seems to be against everything we are."

The elder sister quietly sipped her tea as she tossed the words around in her mind. In all honesty, Katyusha had not agreed with the government and wanted to leave, specifically to America. But when the war broke out, everyone was a suspect to Stalin and the government. They would become suspicious if a single woman were to leave the country with naught but her only son. She would leave the house and everything in it to her sister, of course. She didn't have enough money to take all their possessions with them.

"Katerina?"

She was pulled from her thoughts and smiled sadly to herself, "Yes, you're right. He would not fair well as he ages. I wish he was not so strange."

Ivan heard all that was said, though he pretended, as they had, that _he_ was not there. He wished he was there, playing in that room with his hand-made aeroplane. He wished his papa was home from Poland. He wished many things. His aunt and mother continued talking about nothing; the useless things of the sort that only women in the thirties would speak of. Finally it was time for his aunt to leave. He stood by his mother as the women exchanged farewells and then Natalya kneeled down before him and took his hands in both of hers, "Ivan, you'll be a good boy, yes?"

"Yes."

"And no more fits from you, alright?"

"Yes."

"You know we love you so very much," she told him and kissed his forehead. He looked to the floor and nodded bashfully. She smiled and ruffled his pale hair before saying good bye one more time and disappearing.

* * *

Ivan knelt before his window as he looked out into the overcast sky. It was September and the winter was already settled comfortably over Russia. He looked up into the sky, willing a star to show itself so he could have an excuse to pray. Even if Stalin insisted the people become atheist, he was not. His father still believed in god, so he did too. Sadly, no stars revealed themselves, so he settled on ducking below the sill to hide his slight frame from view.

'_Dear God, it's me again. I'm not sure if you even listen to me anymore, no one else seems to know I exist anymore. No, scratch that, my existence is a burden on everyone. No one really likes me at school, and I don't fit in with their puzzle. I feel like my piece is supposed to go in a different box. Is it wrong? I mean . . . even mama . . . sh-she seems disappointed in me. And I'm only six! What about when I'm sixteen? Or twenty-six? Will she still be disappointed in me?'_ he prayed, _'God, I wanted to ask you a favor. And you being God, I guess you really don't need to do it, but I would appreciate it . . . like a whole lot. Could I possibly do something . . . anything . . . to not have my mother be so disappointed in me?'_

* * *

Yekaterina stared at the note she had from the military. Her husband had died in an accident with the Poles, but how could she possibly tell Ivan that? She sighed helplessly and threw the paper into the fire that kept her warm. She would have to leave. _They_ would have to leave. She wanted the best for Ivan, and a war-torn Europe was not what her son needed.

* * *

_~One week later~_

Ivan didn't want to go. He loved his house that his father had built before he was born. And what about his papa? Why wasn't Papa going with them? Mama kept saying it was because he was fighting for the motherland, but Ivan felt that something was off. And being the six-year-old that he was, he was throwing a tantrum; a very discreet, yet violent, tantrum. Yekaterina hated it when her son became this way. He would stomp behind her with his eyes fixed on his shoes, but that wasn't the main reason why.

As they walked with Natalya through the crowds, lights would flare on as Ivan passed near them. Objects moved away from him, and even people looked around as though searching for the one who had so rudely pushed them. Yekaterina could never explain it, but whenever her dear son became angry, she could not reach him. Worse yet, she had the most horrid time scolding the child while being five feet away.

"Are you sure about this Katyusha? I'll keep the house for when, or if, you come back. But are you sure this is what's good for Ivan?"

The elder sister sighed, "I'm not sure about short term, but if England and France respond to Hitler's aggressions, then all of Europe will be at war, and I know I would not want my son in that situation. I'm sure you'd feel the same."

"You're right," Natasha let out a breath as well, "I would not wish for that upon my own son. But remember about your family here."

The two hugged tightly, "Of course."

* * *

They took a boat from St. Petersburg and made their way through the Baltic Sea before reaching the North Sea and making a clean break to England before being placed on a much better equipped vessel and were carried across the Atlantic. As the journey continued and Ivan heard languages he did not know, he began to forget about not wanting to leave and focusing more on how lucky he was to be able to experience what many in his country did not.

After the weeks at sea, however, he became more interested in _land_. And the sight of the Statue of Liberty was one that he could never describe. He was overjoyed and even a little upset. But his mother stood behind him as they saw the statue pass, and their new life would begin.


	2. The New Boy

Alfred had always been a peculiar boy, ever since he was born. Whereas most newborns screamed after birth, he seemed to laugh. His pale face was alluring to all who saw him and his skin was warm to the touch, more than usual of course. The doctors instantly fell in love with him, almost forgetting entirely about the second child until one of the nurses caught him. But that was only the beginning. Alfred F. Jones was a wonderfully approachable boy whom everyone couldn't help but adore at first glance. The only down sides were: (1) He lived in the Bronx, and (2) he was so unnaturally strong, he broke his own father's hand several times from playing catch in their back yard. And despite the fact the entire world loved him; he was probably the most unnatural person in the entirety of New York.

* * *

_1950_

"Alfred!" Liberty called from downstairs, "The bus is coming!"

The blond, All-American boy raced down the stairs and grabbed his pancakes in one hand while effortlessly pulling his backpack on with the other and sliding in a quick hug before running out the door with a call of "See you later mom!" Liberty smiled with a sigh at her overly eccentric son. Oh how did she ever get blessed with the two extremes? One so quiet you would never know he was there and one so energetic we could probably keep the world balanced with his magnetic field. She sighed again, best be cleaning up. She wouldn't want this mess to be around when Sam came home.

Alfred jumped onto the bus just before the doors closed on him. He laughed breathlessly before taking a hearty bite out of his pancake. It tasted _sooooo_ good! Mattie _MUST_ have made it. No offense to his mother, she was an excellent cook, but compared to Matthew's flapjacks, it was Mattie all the way. He plopped himself down beside his brother who was looking out the window quietly. Alfred nudged him, "You made the pancakes right? C'mon, tell me I'm right."

"Yes, I made the pancakes," Mathew sighed.

Alfred blinked confused. His brother wasn't one to be upset like this, "Hey, little bro, is something wrong?"

Mattie gave him a look. "Is that meant to be a joke?" he asked sarcastically, "Or are you honestly that bad at reading the atmosphere?"

"Uhhh . . . the second one."

Matthew sighed again, "Yes, something is wrong."

"What is it?" Alfred asked worriedly.

"Francis and I broke up. Badly. Like, he punched the glass and I'm the one picking up the shards and getting cut all the while."

Alfred stared at his brother perplexed, and actually upset too. Yeah, sure, he wasn't allowed to be gay openly, but his brother really had loved the Frenchman. Okay, now he was just pissed. No one hurt his brother like this! And it took a lot to make Matthew cry, despite how sensitive he seemed, and the slight puffiness around his eyes gave everything away. Frenchy was getting it in the ass.

* * *

"It'll be alright Ivan, just give it a try," Katyusha coaxed her son as they sat in the parking lot of the high school. The boy had grown taller than her, but he still acted like a child. Still, she knew why he was nervous. If he became upset, he could do something by accident again. He never meant to hurt that Polish boy, but no one seemed to believe him.

The ashen haired boy nodded, though his violet eyes remained downcast. No it wouldn't. It was the middle of the Cold War . . . in America . . . and there was no denying his accent. He was doomed. High school was the worse time of life, period. Either you fit in, or you were ostracized for life. "_Poka maht_," he muttered, giving her a quick kiss before stepping out of the car and making his way into the courtyard. He was careful to stay away from lights. With all his nervous energy, he was moving the rocks and gravel at his feet.

* * *

Alfred looked over the campus, his brother by his side looking at his feet dejectedly as they walked in slow, measured steps Suddenly Alfred saw the Frenchman . . . with his best friend. Oh fuck no! Francis broke up with Matthew to get it on with his best friend of fifteen years! Oh yeah, it was on now! Alfred disentangled himself from his twin who then noticed the other's target. The quiet boy gasped and almost called out to his brother, but then again, it was Francis who was going to get his ass handed to him. Though Matthew was known as _passive_ by all in the school, his slight aggressive side kicked in and he settled for watching. Hell, it may even be fun.

"Hey! Francis!" Alfred called carelessly, innocently.

The Frenchy turned to him and smiled, "Ah, _bonjour_ Alfred. What may I do-."

He was effectively cut off by a fist in his face. The Englishman, and Alfred's BFF jumped in surprise and backed away, "What the bloody hell Alfred! Why did you go and do that!"

"You asshole!" Alfred shouted and kicked the blond while he was down. Low blow, but hey, anything for his brother, "You think you can just go a play with people's hearts, don't you! Disgusting piece of trash!"

"Alfred!" Arthur shouted back, and attempted to pull the American away from the other male, "Calm down you bloody-!" He was thrown off to the side by Alfred's super strength. Seriously, he was suicidal, wasn't he?

Alfred's blue eyes looked iced over, as though he could just freeze Arthur with a look, "I'm dealing with you later."

"Alfred! Jesus! You can kill him if you keep this up!"

"This SOB hurt Mattie! I really don't care how he comes out of this!"

* * *

Ivan was walking by when he heard shouting and screaming. He was new, but he had never liked shouting. There was a lot of shouting in the apartment complex, so much so that he had become skittish around such disturbances. He looked in the direction to see a blond boy with glasses kicking another on the ground that seemed to be very still.

* * *

_Lying still, unmoving on the pavement._

* * *

Despite his instincts screaming for him to run in the opposite direction, Ivan hurried to the scene. Another, shorter boy was yelling at the very angry looking blond who kept kicking, despite the words being thrown at him. He was now only a few feet away, but what could he do? No one knew him, and he would feel foolish running up and asking if the violence could stop. He held onto his scarf worried, not knowing what to do.

* * *

Alfred was ready to give up, Francis hadn't moved in a while now that he thought about it. Still, he wanted to give the guy one last good kick, but as he pulled his leg back, he felt the one holding all his weight give out unexpectedly. He cried out in surprise as he toppled to the ground beside the Frenchman, who simply groaned as he lay on the ground. Damn that American could kick. Said American looked around confused, only to see a strange kid walking away. He hadn't seen that guy before, and the way he moved quickly seemed highly suspicious.

"Hey!" Alfred shouted, but was quickly silenced by Arthur. He looked quizzically at the Englishman who watched the retreating back with the same puzzled, but slightly frightened, expression.

Francis groaned and sat up, "Are you done mutilating my poor, fragile body?" he complained pitifully.

"Arthur, what's up with that guy?"

The English boy shook his head, "I don't know, he just pushed his hand at you and you fell."

"Really?" Alfred asked, looking to where the boy had disappeared, "I felt like someone tripped me or pushed or something."

Matthew ran up, his face seemed pale. Like Alfred, Matthew had his own power, other than turning invisible (which he did most of the time regardless of whether he wanted to or not). He could see auras of others, kind of like the electromagnetic field, but whatever. Alfred didn't care for the scientific terminology of it all.

"Alfred, that boy, he- he's like us."

He cocked his head to one side, "Say what?"

"He, that boy, used his aura to move you," Matthew explained. ("That takes a lot.")

"And is no one worried for my health?" Francis whined like a kicked puppy . . . well, one of those was right.

"Not particularly," the other three sighed.

"I'm actually more interested in that guy," Alfred muttered, propping his knees up, using it to hold up his arm, on which he propped his chin, "I thought there was only the four of us who did weird shit like that."

"Apparently not," Arthur sighed, helping the Frenchman to his feet due to the latter's constant whining and begging.

A mischievous grin split across Alfred's features, "I am so looking into this."


End file.
